Touching
by Ster J
Summary: As Spock prepares for meditation, he admits his need to touch and be touched. Note: Please suspend canon for a moment. This is for entertainment, not social science. Thank you.


T itle: Touching

Author: Ster Julie

Codes: Spock, McCoy

Rating: PG

Part 1 of 1

Summary: As Spock prepares for meditation, he admits his need to touch and be touched.

--ooOoo--

It is said that we Vulcans do not like to be touched. That is a gross exaggeration; at least, it is for me. I _like_ to touch, to _be_ touched. However, I want to have control over those touches.

As I run my towel over my body after a shower, I muse on the hands that have touched me over the years. I remember the feel of my mother's cool, soft hands as she rubbed me dry. Her touch was always accompanied by such feelings of love and acceptance. Father's caress brought with it feelings of warmth and security. He knew I craved the contact. He also knew that the most effective form of punishment for me was to withhold physical contact.

I shiver as I recall the fear I experienced at my bonding to T'Pring, fear that emanated from both of us, and transferred through our small fingertips to the other's _psi_ points. I wrap myself in my soft meditation robe remembering the fear that became a large part of our bond, the fear of a stranger's touch. I now see that it only fueled the chasm that separated us to the point that T'Pring's Challenge only seemed logical.

As I contemplate the empty space between my steepled fingers, I am reminded of my own emptiness. The severing of that bond left a void in me, a hollow space that leaves me hungry for a connection to another. Before Ee-Chaya died, I used to satisfy my need for touch in the safety of his furry flanks. The new cub that replaced him was far too needy to help me. We never had the same connection. Ee-Chaya II became mother's pet.

I find myself being touched more and more by my friends, James Kirk and Leonard McCoy. I find that I have no aversion to their touches. I wonder what that means? Do I welcome, even _crave,_ their touches, _any_ touches, because I long to fill that emptiness? Or do I welcome those touches because they are from these two beings, friends to me in every word?

Another idea creeps into my musings. Are these touches precursors to intimacies with one or both of these men? I have only had limited sexual contacts with women. Is it because I prefer males? Or have I become so close to these two beings who just happened to be men?

However, I cannot say that I have not been stirred by the touch of female flesh. Zarabeth still lives in my dreams, as does Leila, while T'Pring and Charvanek inhabit my nightmares.

So, then. Do I prefer females? Males? Both?

One thing is certain. I am lonely. I crave touch, the physical closeness, but I do not welcome the chaos of the mental touch.

C hristine Chapel tries so bravely to control herself when she nurses me back to health, but her worry for my well-being and her attraction for me batter against me when I am at my most vulnerable. However, I would never ask for another nurse. She always gives me the best care. But can I see the two of us in an intimate relationship? I almost started one with her during my Time. Fortunately for her, she did not recognize my words as an attempt to seduce her. In my dreams, I still feel the coolness of her tears against the warmth of her cheeks. Why was she weeping? Perhaps she _did_ recognize my advances toward her and realized that she could not take advantage of my weakened state. Perhaps. . . No, I _do_ underestimate Christine's strength.

Nyota Uhura is also given to touch me, yet I do not mind. She has proven herself to be a worthy student of the _ka'athyra._ She is also a most efficient officer, and very much a nurturing presence. I could see the two of us together. As Mother would say, we could make beautiful music together. I do not mind her touch because she is not as desperate in her love. She is very secure in her own self.

But how do I categorize the touch and touching of Captain Kirk? Of Doctor McCoy? We have stood by each other in the best and the worst of times. We have all proven that we would walk through damnation for the sake of the others. Is this touch born of friendship, of camaraderie? Or does it fill that void for intimacy?

I welcome Jim's touch. He accepts me as I am and calls me to be even more. At times, I think we are _k'hat'n'dlawa,_ half of each other's heart and soul. Admittedly, that is also a sexual term. I am certain that I would be his partner, if the circumstances were right, if he asked. I know that I can deny James Kirk _nothing._

Leonard, for all his arguing, teasing and bluster, is a very capable scientist as well as a gentle healer. I know that he questions his abilities each time I am brought into Sickbay. He worries about me, and I find that endearing. I know that he is a very lonely man. It is evident by how often he loses himself in a bottle. If he were to invite me into his bed, I would certainly go, but I question my motives. Do I go for me, or for us, or to save him from another drunken stupor?

I speak as if I have "given up" on women. Certainly not. I enjoyed my brief dalliances. However, I did not enjoy the means. As I looked back, I realize that Leila drugged me with those spores, Zarabeth took advantage of my weakened morals, Charvanek was a victim of espionage, Christine was a victim of the Platonians, and Droxine's perfume made me temporarily insane. As a scientist, I wish I could conduct an experiment, extrapolate a hypothesis, and come to a logical conclusion. However, I have found that neither humans nor emotions are logical. And this Vulcan's logic is uncertain at times.

The cruelest incident of all happened after all my injuries on Gamma Trianguli VI. Leonard insisted that I stay in Sickbay for the night so that he could treat the puncture wounds on mychest from the poisonous plant thorns, as well as the blisters on my back from the lightning strike. He had propped me with pillows so that I would sleep on my side. Sometime during the night, I leaned into the pillow behind me and believed my self to be in bed with someone. Then I realized that I was clutching a large pillow to my chest, believing that I had someone in my arms. "How could there be two of you?" I said in my sleep.

McCoy was keeping watch over me. He heard me speak, he saw me reach back to my phantom lover. Confused, I then groped the pillow in my arms. I threw them both to the floor, rolled onto my stomach and began to weep.

"Spock?" he said, caressing my head. "What's the matter? Did you have a bad dream? You sound so heartbroken."

Of _course_ I was heartbroken. I had thought that my loneliness had finally ended.

I felt McCoy bend near to me.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he soothed. "What can I do to help?"

I couldn't stop myself. He was so near, and I was so needy. I moved to the edge of the bed and looped an arm around his neck. McCoy gathered me to him and held me gently until I had calmed down.

"Who did you think it was?" he asked gently.

I didn't respond. I was suddenly ashamed to admit my loneliness.

"It doesn't matter," I whispered. "It wasn't real."

"You know, Spock," McCoy said quietly, "I don't know what it's like for Vulcans, but human males have certain needs. They have to. . . 'blow off steam' every once in a while."

"What are you suggesting, Doctor?" I asked, daring to hope.

"Well," he began uncomfortably, "I know an on-board romance is not prudent, but we're overdue for R & R. Perhaps Jim can swing by that shore leave planet in Omicron Delta and you can act out a few of your fantasies."

"Fantasies," I repeat numbly. I wanted to try a few fantasies with _him_.

"Yeah," he replied. "Blow off some steam. I seem to recall this chorus line girl in yellow feathers that caught your eye the last time we were there."

I had come so close to kissing McCoy earlier, but now he was suggesting I go after a woman, no, a _memory_ of a woman instead. I am sorely tempted to peek into his mind. I do not, not because it is unethical to do so, but because I am afraid that I would find that Doctor McCoy is completely, hopelessly, solely a "ladies' man."

I thanked the good doctor for his --as Mother used to say--"TLC," as well as for his idea about shoreleave. I need to think all this through, my loneliness, and my need for touch.

I add a pinch of incense to the brazier and settle into my meditation pose. I clear my mind of all but the questions to which I seek answers. I make a plan for that next shore leave, determined to find some answers there.

Suddenly I am distracted by the memory of a chorus girl in yellow feathers, and I can't help but smile in anticipation.

END


End file.
